Brotherly Protection
by TimeLady Potter
Summary: Kidlock: Mycroft and Sherlock are the only ones that have ever seen the dark side of their father; Mycroft more than Sherlock. Can they both eventually expose their father for the man he has now become without the consequences that have been put in place? (Warning: Child abuse)


A child's crying and screaming echoed through the mid-London house. The small boy of eight, who currently was lying on the floor, was sobbing; blood gushing from his nose and into his open and screaming mouth. This was truly a horrifying sight, yet, unfortunately, a normal one for the eight-year-old's older fourteen-year-old brother. With every hit he would flinch as his brother's cries increased in shrillness and volume. He often thought about interfering with this, but he dare not. He cared for his younger brother, but if he stepped in he would e beaten along with his brother.

The Holmes' house was quite a sight, especially on these nights when either Mycroft or Sherlock were, oh, "punished" for doing something "not normal" by their father's standards. Empty bottles of alcohol, some broken with specks of blood on the shards, often littered the floor, which Mycroft would have to sweep up after one of his father's outbursts.

_ "Now listen here, Mycroft," _his father's voice echoed in his mind; the voice from over eight years ago, _"you do _NOT _tell your mother about this. _Any _of this."_

_ "Why?" the curious six-year-old Mycroft had asked, holding his first out of many bloody noses._

_ "Because then Mummy would yell at Daddy, and Mummy and Daddy might split. And if that ever happens; if our marriage comes to an end, then so does your life!" His voice stung like venom in the young boy's ears._

_ "O-okay," a frightened Mycroft had answered._

_ "Good. That requires cleaning up all the bottles, and covering up and scars or bruises. That goes for you and your soon coming brother. Got it?"_

_ "Yes sir," Mycroft responded in a small voice, starting to clean the bottles from the floor, cutting himself a few times._

Mycroft pulled himself out of his memories as the present flooded his vision again. His dad had gone from a well-groomed man to a rough-looking alcoholic; the latter version very well hidden and only seen by Mycroft and Sherlock.

"Mycroft! Clean this mess up! Your mother will be home soon!" his dad shouted in that raspy voice that most of the time haunted Mycroft's dreams.

"Yes sir," Mycroft's automatic voice sounded as he started picking up the broken bits of glass (he sighed just seeing _how _much blood was on them tonight). He gathered the bigger pieces, tossed them into a garbage bag, and took the bag to the glass section of their recycling bin.

When Mycroft returned to the room, his father had gone (to straighten himself out before his wife came home), and Sherlock was still lying in the middle of the floor, whimpering slightly and making an obvious attempt to maintain consciousness. Mycroft walked to him and carefully bent to pick him up. At Mycroft's touch, however, Sherlock flinched, thinking it was the return of his father.

"Shhh, Sherlock. It's alright; it's me, Mycroft," Mycroft whispered in a comforting voice. Sherlock opened his eyes and met his older brother's. Sherlock's blue-grey-green eyes were full of fear and hurt; hardly the eyes of an eight-year-old.

"H… H-he…" Sherlock attempted to speak, but found words not working for him.

"Shhh, I'm here to help. I'll make it all better after I vacuum the itty-bitty bits of glass on the floor, okay?" Of course, it Mycroft had it his way, he would be able to help his younger brother now- actually, none of this would happen at all. If he had it his was, his mother would find out what a miserable excuse of a father, husband, and man her husband truly is and file for divorce; of course, without the death threat over his head.

"O-ok-kay," Sherlock's weak voice came as Mycroft gently laid him on the couch: he couldn't see that well in the dark, but he could tell that Sherlock's injuries were fairly serious, especially the cut on his forehead that was still bleeding. Mycroft would need some orange juice to give his brother to help with all the blood loss from tonight.

Grabbing the vacuum and plugging it in, Mycroft started vacuuming the floor, using his feet to try and find any shards of glass left. When all the glass was gone (and Mycroft's feet lightly bleeding) he slipped his shoes back on, unplugged the vacuum, and put it back in its place. Ignoring the pain in his feet, Mycroft went to the couch and picked Sherlock up, carrying him to the room they shared. He laid him down on the bottom bunk of their bunk bed. Mycroft then ran to the two boys' bathroom.

Once he reached the bathroom, he took his bloody shoes off and placed them in the sink. He started to run water over them to let them soak. He then took his personal first aid kit (he wanted to be a doctor when he got older) out of its hiding place and opened it. He was relieved to see it had been replenished in supplies; with new rolls of gauze, unopened bandages, and new tubes of anti-biotic cream.

Again, if Mycroft had it his way, he would rush to Sherlock's aid right then and there, but there would be the blood stains on the carpet from the bathroom to the bedroom from his still bleeding feet, so he opened one of the new rolls of gauze and wrapped each foot with swiftness, trying his best to hurry so he could tend to his bother.

Mycroft finished, and, making sure the gauze was secure, closed his first aid kit, turned the water in the sink off, grabbed the shoes, and quickly walked back to his room; closing and locking the door behind him.

"Be quiet as much as you can. Mum's about to be home and she mustn't find out," of course, this is the basic concept that Mycroft told Sherlock every night. Sherlock just gave a small nod of understanding.

"Okay, now et e check to make sure I've go- Orange juice! Okay, I'll be right back, again!" Mycroft slowly crept out of the room and quietly walked to the kitchen. Thanking his lucky stars neither of his parents were in there, he grabbed some Styrofoam cups, the orange juice and milk cartons, and the unopened box of fresh pastries Mycroft had bought with some money his mother had given him for cleaning his room.

"I'm back," Mycroft announces as he set the good and drink down to close and lock the bedroom door again. "Now, to the doctor's area," Mycroft added as he again picked Sherlock up from the bunk and opened the closet door. He carefully closed the door without hands (since Sherlock now had to be carried with both hands).

Once in the closet, Mycroft carefully set his brother on the floor and drew a key from his pocket. After turning the lock on the closet door, he inserted the key into another door within the closet and turned it, quietly pushing the door open to a pitch black room. Rushing in, Mycroft ran his hand against the wall until it found the light switch and flicked it on.

The room was modeled as a mock doctor's room; complete with small bed area and counter. Mycroft had another flashback to how he got the literal life-saving room.

_ It had been career day for Mycroft's class, which meant that each child got to choose a job they would want when they become a "grown-up." However only one profession was allowed in each class, so no repeating careers were allowed._

_ Mycroft had really wanted one of those professions where people get to blow stuff up, but by the time the list came to him, all the basic blown-up jobs were taken, so he just put down his mum's job; a doctor. He didn't have anything against it, seeing as he liked making mummy feel better when she got boo-boos. _

_ "So, what did you choose?" Mycroft's mother had asked the five-year0old wen he came home that day._

_ "I wanna be a doctor  
!" Mycroft had said in a cheerful voice. His mother's facial expression brightened._

_ "That's lovely, Mycroft!" Even Mycroft could tell his mother had an idea in her head, and, sure enough, when Mycroft came home from school the next day, there were strangers in his walk-in, huge closet, making another room within the closet._

_ A couple of months later the room was complete, Mycroft was six, and Mummy's stomach was getting bigger. _

Again, Mycroft had to pull himself out of his mind and focus on his priorities: his brother's life and him being as quiet as possible. Carefully, he yet again picked his brother up and carried him inside the room; gently laying him on the bed.

"Sherlock, are you still awake?" Mycroft asked in a hushed whisper.

"Y-Yea-ah," the small voice came from the mal-nourished body on the table. The weakness of the voice almost made Mycroft cringe; it was that of a scare and abused little kid who wished nothing more than to give into the darkness that he was struggling so hard against.

"Hang in there, okay?" was all Mycroft could think to say. In response, Sherlock gave a small nod.

"First, some pain killers," Mycroft muttered, mostly to himself. He sifted through his supplies on his counter to find the bottle of pills labeled "pain reliever." Taking a small cup from the counter and filling it with water in the sink, Mycroft walked to his brother. He placed the water on a small beside table so he could help Sherlock sit up to take the pill.

"Come on, Lockers," Mycroft pleaded, holding his brother up and trying to place the pill in his mouth. "You'll feel loads better if you take it." Finally convinced, Sherlock opened his mouth and allowed Mycroft to put the pill inside. Mycroft muttered a small "thank you" before helping some water into Sherlock's mouth as well.

"Okay, I'll be back… again." Mycroft said as he gently laid Sherlock back on the bed. He brushed some of Sherlock's dark, blood-soaked curls back and gave him a small kiss on the forehead. He then turned and unlocked the door to the room and stepped out. We walked to the closet door and unlocked it as well. He proceeded to grab the orange juice, milk, cups, and pastries. Making sure he wouldn't drop any, he went back through the closet and into his doctor's room. He sat the four items on the beside table, then went back and closed the door to the closet and the doctor room, making sure to lock both of them.

"Loom what I've got," Mycroft smiled to Sherlock, who's eyes ventured to the drinks and pastries.

"F-for u-us?" Sherlock asked, his voice a bit stronger from before.

Mycroft nodded. "Yep, just for us. Just let me bandage and make-up you." Sherlock nodded in an agreeance to let him, and Mycroft set to work. First, he retrieved the anti-biotic cream from his first-aid kit and opened the tube. He squirted some on his finger and started to rub it on the cuts.

"Ow!" came Sherlock's cry as Mycroft gently dabbed the biggest of the cuts.

"I know it hurts, but just hang in there. We'll get to eat and drink soon, just…" Mycroft finished dabbing the cuts with a small smile. "There! Now, to get these bandaged up, and then I've got a surprise for you!" Sherlock returned a small smile.

Mycroft grabbed the opened gauze roll, a pair of scissors, and some medical tape. With these, he started to put the gauze over the bigger cuts, muttering apologies under his breath whenever Sherlock would wince.

After a few minutes, Mycroft was done with the gauze and bandages (for the lesser cuts). "All better?" Mycroft asked gently.

"A lot," Sherlock replied with a kind smile.

"Great! Now, close your eyes!" Sherlock closed his eyes. "Okay, now keep them closed!" Mycroft commanded as he opened the door to the closet. He searched the closet until he found Sherlock's beloved pirate hat. With a small smirk, Mycroft came back into the room and placed it on Sherlock's head.

"Yay!" Sherlock instantly knew that it was his sacred pirate hat. "Thank you, Myc-y!"

Mycroft chuckled lightly. "No problem, Cap'n Sherlock Holmes!"

Sherlock's face fell a little. "I don't wanna pretend right now, Mycroft," he admitted with a sigh. "I wanna know how you do it."

"Do what, Lockers?" Mycroft asked, sitting by Sherlock on the bed.

"When daddy hurts you, it doesn't seem to bother you. How do-"

"Mycroft?" came a female voice from outside the bedroom door.

Mycroft swore under his breath. "I'll see what she wants." With that, he stood and left both the room and the closet, locking both doors as he went. With a deep breath, he unlocked his bedroom door and came face to face with his mother.

"Good evening, mum," Mycroft greeted.

Mycroft's mother smiled to him. "I just wanted to come check on you and your brother… where is he, by the way?"

"Oh, we're just playing doctors and pirates in my doctor room," at this point, Mycroft took a childish approach, "but you can't come in, miss. It's a top secret mission that only I, Doctor Holmes, and Captain Sherlock can know. If anyone else knew, they'd be forced to walk the plank!"

The Holmes boys' mother was obviously holding back a laugh. "Well, it's passed both of your bed times, Doctor Holmes, so I suggest anchoring ship for now."

"We'll be in bed soon, don't worry! Love you! See you later!" and before his mum could say another word, Mycroft slammed the door in her face and locked it.

"That was close," Mycroft admitted after coming back to the room. "Now, for drink and pastries!"

Mycroft began pouring some of the orange juice for Sherlock and some milk for himself. He then opened the box of pastries.

"Help yourself," Mycroft offered.

"Thank you, Doctor Holmes."

"You're welcome, Cap'n Sherlock. But mother's right; we need to get some sleep. Of course, first, I have to cover up the stuff with make-up." Mycroft went back to his counter and brought out his huge make-up kit, complete with foundation and blush.

"Okay, now just relax. It may sting a bit," Mycroft warned as he started applying foundation to the gauze and bandages. It was obvious that Sherlock was trying to stay still, but he still made small winces here and there. Mycroft muttered either a small apology or a word of encouragement when he felt these winces.

"Aaaaaaand done!" exclaimed Mycroft quietly, yet proudly. He had a right, for his younger brother almost looked as if his father hadn't even spoken a word in his direction tonight. Only if someone were to look very closely could they tell that bandages covered very large portions of his face area.

"Thanks," came Sherlock's both weak and tired voice. "Bed time?"

"I believe so, yes," Mycroft answered, helping his little brother to his feet.

"I don't wanna go to school tomorrow," Sherlock whined. "The other kids make fun of me a lot."

"It's because you're smarter than the lot of them. They're all idiots, but you have the intelligence advantage. They're jealous of you, Lockers. Just don't defend yourself with that, or it'll get worse. Here… after school tomorrow meet up with me in the library. I'm going to teach you my trick to not being bothered when father turns on me. Okay?"

"Sounds good," Sherlock replied as he stifled a yawn. With Mycroft's help, Sherlock walked from the mock doctor's office to the bedroom, where each boy climbed into his bunk.

"Goodnight, Doctor Holmes," Sherlock bid to Mycroft.

"Goodnight to you as well, Cap'n Sherlock," Mycroft offered before he drifted into an uneasy sleep.


End file.
